


The ink in which our lives are inscribed is indelible

by Hermitstull



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermitstull/pseuds/Hermitstull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Οur lіvеѕ аrе nоt оur оwn. Frоm wоmb tо tоmb, wе аrе bоund tо оthеrѕ, pаѕt аnd рrеѕеnt. Αnd by еасh сrіmе, аnd еvеry kіndnеѕѕ, we bіrth оur futurе.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After rewatching Cloud Atlas. this burst forth. Consider it a stand alone from The Vodka Made Me Do It.
> 
>  
> 
> (Edited to add: There is a strong chance of some expansion of this concept in the near future. The plot bunnies won't leave me alone now.)

You first see her on a hot summer day.  The master of the horse has insisted you take the stallion out to the pen and allow him to run for a bit while the other slaves clean his stall. She is the daughter of your owner. To speak to her would bring the whip, but you risk it anyway. Something in your chest over rides your head.

As the slave master bloodies you back you drift off into the feel of her smile and the light reflected off of her brown eyes.

 

The party is ever so dull, as these things tend to be. Your father, immersed in the politics of the court, demanded that you attend. The young Emperor is currently in need of a wife and he hopes that your charm and looks will gain you favor.

You steel your nerves as he introduces you, barely managing to fumble through your name  as his green eyes bore into your very being.

 

“Are we forever to do this dance,” he shoots you a grin as you clash swords, dark eyes full of mirth.

“You would think,” you growl out, “you would have realized your folly and surrendered.” He pushes you back roughly. You stumble back into the wall of the tavern.

“Come now old chap,” he grins again, pressing against you.  “If you locked me in chains we could never do this.”

He leans in and kisses you roughly.  You can’t help but respond.

“I like the beard,” he whispers, “It suits you.”

 

You close your eyes, dropping the letter to the ground. Your body following quickly after.  Your sister comes in and pulls you to her. She reaches for the letter, skimming the contents but knowing what it reads without really looking.

She holds you close, letting you cry, thinking about your husband who gave his life in service to the Crown. Queen Victoria herself could thank you and it wouldn’t matter.

You’ll never see his warm brown eyes again.

 

“I read once,” Helena said, taking Myka’s hand, “that our lives aren’t our always our own. And that we continuously meet those that matter most time after time.”

“Really,” Myka’s voice was rough.

“Oh yes,” Helena held the cup closer, allowing her wife to drink.  “You and are old souls my love. We have been together before and will be together again.”

She set the cup down on a small table next to the hospital bed.

“I like that,” Myka smiled.  “You and I together.”

“Always.”

 

“Wow,” despite his age, the voice still holds a child like quality. His forest green eyes fill with excitement.

“I know,” you can’t help but grin.  “This is the prototype for the latest model. And between you and me,” you lean in, lowering your voice, “I believe that that this one will be the first to reach just under sub-light speed.”

Your mentor looks over at you with a broad grin. “Brilliant.” He pulls you into a hug. “You are a brilliant young man.  Does the company know yet?”

“Soon my friend, soon.”

 

“It’s okay,” an accented voice catches your attention. “These ships are quite safe now.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, looking at the woman about your age seated diagonally from you.  “It’s been a while since I’ve traveled off world.”

“I love it,” the other woman smiles, running a hand through her dark hair. “Are you traveling to Gemini for work or fun.”

“A bit of both,” you grin, “I hope.” You extend your hand.  “Myka.”

“Myka, an unusual name. It suits you. I’m HG.”

“Thanks,” your skin tingles a bit after HG lets go. “A great, great Grandmother or something had the name.” You pause, getting a bit lost in the other woman’s eyes.

“Have I met you,” HG asks, “somewhere before?  You seem so familiar.”

“I don’t think so,” you reply as a feeling of déjà vu passes over you. 

“Well then,” she replies with a grin, “then I look forward to getting to know you better. Again if need be.”

You smile. The long trip to one of Earth’s largest colonies doesn’t seem so bad anymore. 


	2. And he squeezed back just as hard as you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well,” he grins broadly. “I heard it was someone’s birthday today and I thought we should celebrate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genderswap Bering and Wells set in WWI. Yes, looks like this is now a thing.

“Here,” he says, handing you a dirty handkerchief folded over itself. Something is inside but you can’t quite discern what.

Another bomb lands near the trench, covering you both in another layer of dirt.

“What’s this?”

His sea green eyes sparkle.

“Well,” he grins broadly. “I heard it was someone’s birthday today and I thought we should celebrate.”

You thank whatever deity that the Doughboys are praying to today that the grime covers the deep blush you can feel creep along your neck.

“Thank you,” you manage to rasp out.

“Open it,” he sits down next to you, his long legs bent at the knee. You always come here, where the trench is at its end to rest.  He found you here one day, book pressed to your face (you’d long ago broken your glasses), and asked if you knew the way to HQ.

You were shocked when he returned a couple of days later with a magnifying glass. When pressed, he told you that he’d managed to charm it out of one of the supply clerks.

“Well, go on then.”

“Okay, okay,” you grin and gently unfold the linen.  Inside you find three pieces of chocolate. Honest to goodness chocolate.

“Where did you?”

“I have my ways,” he grins. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.”  You can’t help yourself, grabbing his hand and clutching it to your chest.  

Again you’re thankful for the dirt that covers you. When they sang songs about “Over There” they didn’t tell you about the wasteland. About seeing your friends caught on barbed wire as you try to move from trench to trench in the French countryside. Of how the gas masks always smell of vomit and desperation.

And that you would find such a charming man from New Brighton whose father was a high school English teacher that had passed his love of books on to his son. And that his smile and conversation would fill up a space inside that you didn’t realize needed filling.

And he squeezed back just as hard as you.

You spend the rest of the late afternoon chatting about Chaucer and Dickens, slowly breaking off small bits of chocolate and enjoying each other’s company.  You almost forget that his unit is supposed to cross no man’s land tonight.

Three years later you find the countryside looking familiar, despite its desolate state. The tree stump is still there, and the bits of fence. The Armistice has been signed and you’re on your way home.  You stumble into a blasted trench when your hand hits something.

You burst into tears and you pull up what’s left of your magnifying glass, his initials still etched in the handle.  


	3. October 31, 2241

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nonsense,” she calls. “This is a party.” You can picture her smirk. “You’re on time when you’re fashionably late. It’s the rules.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Halloween drabble that is a continuation of one of the couples from Chapter 1 with shout outs to two of my favorite fics mixed in.

“Babe,” you call, adjusting your necklace. “Are you ready? We’re going to be late for Art’s place.”

“Nonsense,” she calls.  “This is a party.” You can picture her smirk. “You’re on time when you’re fashionably late. It’s the rules.”

The bedroom door opens and you can’t help but smile. She is lovely in her 20th century fighter pilot costume.  She told you on the way back from Gemini that in a past life she thought she was a pilot in one of the World Wars-two you think-and that one Halloween she wanted to dress the part.

“You are adorable,” you admit as she walks into your arms like she belongs there, which she definitely does. You suppose your still in what they call the ‘honeymoon’ phase, just having moved in together.

“As are you,” she leans up and kisses you. “I love your costume.” She steps back.  Admiring your early 1920’s style dress, complete with beads and headband. You had researched you family and learned that original owner of your name (there have been a few) was one of the first successful female news reporters in Old New York.

“Thanks,” you lean down and kiss her again.  It’s not a stretch to say that this has been the happiest year of your life and that HG has been a huge part of it. You still can’t shake those moments of déjà vu, when you look at her in a certain light, or when she speaks a certain phrase.

But it doesn’t matter; you already know that you will never love another as much as you love her.

You end the kiss and pull her close, burying your face in her shoulder length dark hair.

“What is it love?” she pulls back slightly.

“I’m just so happy,” you don’t really have the words to express how you feel.

“Me too,” her brown eyes sparkle. “If you don’t mind,” she moves a curl out of your face, “I have one thing to add to your fabulous costume. If that’s all right.”

“Um, okay.”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small ring box.  You heart begins to pound in your chest and you can feel yourself begin to tremble.


	4. The Endless Wonder of Algebra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fluffy update set in the distant future on another planet with a couple guest appearances, role reversals and mentions.

“Questions?”

Young Donovan’s hand shoots up. You are ready for his complaint before he begins. “Mr. George, I just don’t get why we have to learn about this stuff?  I mean this is old math, Earth stuff. Hardly anyone lives on Earth anymore.”

“That second topic is one to take up with your history teacher. I will address the first.” You lean against your desk, rubbing a quick hand over your short dark hair.

“What are you sitting on?”

The class giggles a little.

“A chair,” he replies with an eye roll.

You see Mrs. Peters, the school principle, out of the corner of your eye lean casually on the door frame.

“Right,” you grin, “and what does the chair rest on?’

More giggles.

“The floor,” he pauses, “are you gonna answer my question?”

“And what does the floor rest on?”

“Umm,” he pauses, his nine year old brain working it out. “The ground I guess.”

“So if we didn’t have the ground underneath you, the chair would rest on nothing then?”

“The chair would rest on the ground.” He thinks he’s got you.

“True,” you agree, “but wouldn’t you rather be sitting on a chair in a nice comfortable classroom instead of outside on the hard ground?”

“Well duh.”

You can hear Miss Peter’s chuckle at Joshua’s tone.

“Well think of basic Algebra like that, the ground. You have to have the ground so that the floor, and the walls for that matter, have something to rest on. And so your chair can be in a comfortable spot instead of outside in the cold. This old Earth math is what helped get us here today. Out of the cold and inside to the endless wonder of Algebra.”

The bell rings signaling the end of the class.

“Don’t forget to complete the exercises on pages 12 and 13 and send them to my data station when you’re done. We’ll be reviewing them on Monday.”

Variations of ‘bye Mr. George’ and ‘have a nice weekend Mr. George’ echo through the classroom until its empty.

“Nice one Henry.”

“Thank you Michelle,” you reply grinning at your friend. She has been your best friend since childhood, taking up for you on the school yard one day when Billy Sykes tried to steal your lunch.

“So will Andy and I see you tonight? It’s the first game of the playoffs.”

“Not tonight,” you blush slightly. “I have a date.”

“Hey hey hey!” She raises her hand to give you a high five, which weakly you return.  “It’s been forever! Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Well it’s...”

A knock on the door frame causes you both to look up. You can’t help but smile when curious hazel, though you’d call them green, eyes meet your own.

“Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all Miss Warren,” you swallow, afraid of what might come out of your best friend’s mouth, “I was just wishing Henry here a nice weekend. “  She gives you a wink and a thumbs up once she’s out of Miss Warren’s line of sight.

Michelle is really sometimes a kid in an adult’s body.

“I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for tonight.”

“Of course Olivia,” you grin, hopping you don’t blush too badly.

“Good,” she leans up and gives you a kiss on the cheek.  “I’ll see you at 8 then.”

 

You smile softly as you watch her go, glad that fate seemed to seat you together at the first teacher orientation of the school year. With over 200 educators at Gemini’s second largest teaching facility, there are people you are still meeting for the first time. Even though you’ve taught here for years.

But sometimes things are just meant to be, you suppose. Packing up your data pads and papers quickly you shut down your classroom for the night. All thoughts of Algebra and Earth to be picked up come Monday morning.

Though you do hope to lay a good foundation for something more tonight. 


	5. So baby raise a glass to mend all the broken hearts of all my wrecked up friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because HG isn't always the bad guy.

The glass explodes just behind your left shoulder.

“What the hell!”

“Where have you been!”

“Out.”

“Out,” he set his hand on his hips. You know that body language well. “Really.”

He holds up a folded piece of paper in his left hand.

“Fuck,” you scratch the back of your neck. “Look, I can explain.”

“Can you?” He begins to pace. “I actually called this number and you know what. A woman, a fucking WOMAN answered.” He stops and looks at you, brown eyes boring into yours. “A woman,” he rasps.

You move quickly, partially catching him as he falls to the floor.

“After everything we’ve been through,” he sobs, “how could you?”

You swallow, wondering how much you should tell.  That the woman is actually the husband of the man you’re seeing behind his back. One who can’t move down to the Village, who can’t take a shit job because no one else will hire homosexuals.

A man with sandy blonde hair and an easy grin that you’re starting to fall for.

You think about the man in your arms, running a hand through his short dark hair and the hell you’ve both gone through to get here. At least he has a good job in a bookstore working for Mrs. Daniels.  Someone who’s sympathetic because her son is being treated at Briarcliff after being busted in an underground club last year.

But you aren’t so lucky. And the mail room at Sterling Cooper isn’t so forgiving.  So you lie every day for eight hours a day, five days a week.  You don’t have the optimism that he has, believing there are still good people left in the world. You don’t go to the Mattachine Society meetings,  frowning at the thought of  future where you could live openly as you are.

You can’t get past today.

And so when one of the account reps started hanging around the mail room, sending you signs, you acted.

“It’s not,” you swallow again, “you talked to his wife.”

His head pulls off your chest. You feel  tears forming in your hazel eyes.  “I’m sorry. So very sorry.”

He pulls away violently and stands quickly.

“You can sleep on the couch until you find someplace else to live. I hear there’s a room opening at Mrs. Fredrick’s place next week.”

 

Three weeks later you’re bored in the mail room. You’ve broke it off with the account rep realizing your mistake, hoping for a chance to make things right.  Donny  is on his break so you sneak a peek at the afternoon edition of the Times. You skim the article about Judy Garland’s death, saving that for later.  One of the tenants at the boarding house, a young colored girl, told you there was a robbery last night a few blocks over.

You stand, reading about Mrs. Daniels book store being the target of a robbery and how the young clerk had talked the robbers down, even getting them to turn in their weapons to the police. There was talk of a metal from the Mayor for his heroism. Glowing words from Mrs. Daniels about how anyone can make a difference.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re heading to the small office you share with Donny, dialing the bookstore’s number. 

“Okay,” you say, nervous and excited all at once. “Tonight at 8pm. Just to talk, I know,” you can’t help but grin into the phone. “Okay that bar on Christopher Street.”


	6. I’m finally at peace but it feels wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is nothing I can see, darkness becomes me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An expansion on one of the couples/scenes from Chapter 1.

Myka closed her eyes, keeping the image of Helena’s face in the front of her mind. It was becoming harder to focus, harder to hang on.  She had battled the cancer twice before and won.

Two out of three ain’t bad was how the song went.

This time had been the worst.  Dr. Calder her oncologist had given her the news with the same hopeful tone she used during the previous times. But something in her eyes was different.

Leena, the head nurse from the Chemo unit had made sure to give her extra blankets and allow HG with her for longer periods during the treatment.

Abigail from the pharmacy had taken extra time to explain each prescription to Helena and each side affect in detail.

Myka wondered if HG could sense something, because she made sure that all of Myka’s closest friends called or stopped by the house.  Pete even flew in from Vancouver for a week, spending time with Myka reminiscing about crazy days on the quad.

There was a finality that she could sense but didn’t want to accept. There hadn’t been enough time to cherish Helena the way she deserved. They didn’t get to adopt the little boy they so desperately wanted.  They never made it to a double digit wedding anniversary.

There were lots of things people said about when you die. You see a light. You see darkness. You find all of those loved ones that went before you. And so on.

But Myka only saw her beloved Helena bent over her still form. The beeping machines finally silenced.  She had moved partially onto the bed, quietly sobbing and murmuring words of endless devotion.  She could feel the presence of others hovering outside the room.  Artie, their long time neighbor and his adopted daughter Claudia. Helena’s brother Charlie and his partner Steven. Her work husband Sam and others from the office. Almost too many to count.

But what struck her most of all was the sense of that she had experienced a very similar scenario before.

She remembered one of the early dates HG had taken her on. They had visited a local carnival.  Helena had won her an overstuffed bear and they had laughed like school girls as they enjoyed the rides.  On a whim, Myka and pulled the other woman into the fortune teller’s tent.

After a moment the dark skinned woman with incredible hair had talked about time spent as a slave, then on a galleon, and in the trenches of World War I.

“I see a planet circling a distant star,” she had mumbled during her trance. “A teacher, a warrior, a tribesman.”

Myka remembered rolling her eyes at HG who grinned back.

As she felt herself being pulled away, Myka hoped that maybe the fortune teller was right. 


	7. Next stop, the stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doc has been such a presence in your life. First as your neighbor growing up. Then as a tutor in college and finally now as a co-worker. It only seems right that you share this moment with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another expansion on one of the couples/scenes from Chapter 1. Not every iteration in this world is romantic or tragic. This is one of those.

“Doc,” you call out, “Doc you here?”

Someone is here, you can tell thanks to the sound of music playing softly from somewhere.  As you move further into the somewhat cluttered lab you realize it has to be the Doc. He’s listening to a worn recording of his dad’s band.

You remember the fond smile on the Doc’s face as he talks about his days growing up in Denton, Texas. Sneaking downstairs to watch his dad practice while his mom graded papers.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” the Doc says without turning around.  How he always knows when you’re there, you’ll never know. “I’m feeling a bit sentimental today.”

“No worries,” you grin.

“Do you have news?” He asks, carefully moving an object out from under the scanner and replacing it with another.

“I might.”

“And what might that information be, young squire?”  He glances back to catch your eye roll.  “I’m not getting any younger you know.”

“Whatever.”

He sets the sample down and turns to face you, turning off the music in the process.  You can tell by the lines near his eyes that he’s been up late working and probably didn’t get much sleep. Your mom would kill you if she knew.

“Well Michael?”

You sit down on a nearby stool, shit eating grin splitting your face.

“We’ve been selected to move on to phase three.”

“Splendid!”  He claps his hand together.

“I spoke with Mr. Bennett with the company. He’s sending us the details of what the next part will entail,” you hop off the chair and begin to pace, running a hand through your dark hair.  “But we now get to move into the prototype phase. So more money. And we can hire a team, a SMALL team,” you emphasize, “but more hands for testing, more brains for designing.”

“Miss Davis and her brother would be perfect,” the Doc interjects. “And perhaps Doctor Weise as a consultant.”

“Dr. Crabbypants?”  You raise a skeptical brow.

“He and I might not always see eye to eye, but his insight would be invaluable, I believe.”

“Okay.” You nod, plopping back down on the stool.

You spend the next few hours working out an outline for what needs to happen next. Phase three has a five year development window, which seems like a lot on paper, but when you’re working on creating the first interstellar space ship it’s not enough.

And that’s without the outside pressure of knowing your planet is dying from pollution and overpopulation.

When you leave the Doc goes begrudgingly with you. You discretely observe your mentor as he cleans his glasses, keen green eyes focused on getting every smudge off the lenses. You won’t bother to bring up all of the medical advances that could correct his vision. Wasted breathe.

The Doc has been such a presence in your life. First as your neighbor growing up. Then as a tutor in college and finally now as a co-worker.  It only seems right that you share this moment with him.

“Next stop the stars,” you murmur with a smile.

“What are you mumbling about now young squire?” he asked spotless glasses back in front of his eyes.

“Nothing H.W. How about Vietnamese for dinner? I bet Miss Dao is working tonight.” You wiggle you eye brows.

“My enjoyment of Vietnamese cuisine has nothing to do with Miss Dao.”

“Since when?” you ask. He’s been chatting up the elderly owner of their favorite restaurant for months now.

“Since I found out that Chef Le is her girlfriend.”

You burst into laughter and he chuckles softly as you head out into the night. 


	8. If I were to imagine heaven, I would imagine a door opening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neelah reached down and quickly opened her bag, pulling out the small gift, wrapped in silk bark. “I wanted to give you this on Celebration Day to thank you for all that you have done for me this year.”
> 
> “You have given me as much my warrior,” the Priestess smiled softly. “Your presence is gift enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the distant future with two small references to earlier installments in this series.

“There is a tradition for our great people,” the Chief began, “that as the cold season ends we give thanks to the Great Spirits for our health and our home.”  The portly man’s eyes swept the group, “and we give thanks for those most important to us.”

Weapons shook and shouts of agreement filled the hall.

“I declare the Day of Celebration now open.”

The tribe’s most talented player struck up a tune on her instrument and began to walk the hall, singing a song about an ancient battle that took place on this day. It was always the first song of the Celebration Day for Neelah’s people.  The warrior knew the tale well, having sat at her Mema’s feet as a child when the master storyteller told the saga of the great invasion.  About the evil sky lords that came thousands of years ago. And how Neelah’s people fought valiantly for many, many moons but they were outnumbered.

Neelah could feel her blood stir as she recalled Mema‘s voice when the story teller got to the best part, where a teacher of men had found a way to trick the sky lords into attacking each other. And how he and his life mate had slipped into the sky lord’s ship to set the trap.  Neelah felt her heart sink as Mema would talk of the sacrifice of the heroic pair and the pain their blood kin felt.

“Why the long face warrior on the Day of Celebration?”

Neelah turned quickly, her long black hair in a warrior’s braid thumping against her back.

“Priestess,” Neelah bowed slightly. “Forgive me; I did not see you approach.”

Green eyes sparkled. “Not a good trait for such a fearsome warrior.”

“I suppose so,” Neelah blushed slightly.

“Walk with me?”

“Of course,” Neelah offered the taller woman her arm as they made their way to the outskirts of the great hall and into the night. Both moons of their world were fully visible during this time of year, giving the land an ethereal glow.

Neelah would spend hours walking the woods and exploring the old ruins when the night was bright during the cold season. The warrior would let her imagination run wild with stories of what the ancients had been like.  Many of her musings she would share with the Priestess during her weekly cleansing, much to the other woman’s delight.

The pair walked in silence through the village, each lost in thought.  Neelah had a gift hidden in her satchel as a token of thanks. It was small but she hoped it conveyed how important the Priestess had been to her healing in the past year.

“So my warrior,” the Priestess began, “what tale will you spin for me tonight?”

Neelah swallowed. “There once was a warrior,” she began softly, “feared by her foes, loved by her people, she had won many a victory and earned much honor. But with much honor came blindness to others around her, pride in her own thoughts.  She became reckless in her actions, thinking herself beyond the reach of even death.”

“One day she was too careless in battle and she lost brothers and sisters most dear,” Neelah slowed her pace, “and for many days and nights she wished desperately to join her kin in the great hereafter.”

Neelah stopped and turned to face the Priestess. “But then the warrior met a wise woman. A healer of both body and spirit. Through words and deeds the wise woman helped the warrior return to her true self.” She smiled, taking one of the Priestess’s hands in her own. “And I will be forever in your debt my lady.”

Neelah reached down and quickly opened her bag, pulling out the small gift, wrapped in silk bark.  “I wanted to give you this on Celebration Day to thank you for all that you have done for me this year.”

“You have given me as much my warrior,” the Priestess smiled softly.  “Your presence is gift enough.”

The Priestess leaned in, placing her lips gently upon Neelah’s for the first time.

“By the great spirits,” Neelah whispered when the Priestess pulled back.

The Priestess gently cupped the warrior’s face, “It is time that I select a Consort my warrior. I have asked that it be you.”

Neelah grinned and leaned in for another kiss, slipping her hands around the waist of the Priestess. Clutching the small ring tightly in her hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading this and all of my other works this year. It's very much appreciated.


End file.
